Page 18 of Golden Touch
Next week I’ll fill out some more applications. But I’m down to a couple cans of soup. Can you help me out?
God. He really needs to learn how to adult. But I hate to think of him going hungry. We’vebeenhungry, and it isn’t fun.
I’ll send you a check tomorrow.
You’re the best sister I ever had!
That joke has gotten old, seeing as I’m the only sister he’s everhad. So I roll my eyes and put down my phone. I shut out the light, and roll onto my side. And I find myself holding my breath, just listening.
The house feels different with someone else in it. The ceiling creaks occasionally under the weight of Nash’s footfalls upstairs. That ought to make me feel unsettled, but it doesn’t. Most nights I’m alone on the property, hyper vigilant every time I hear an engine on the road. Some nights I feel like the last woman alive.
Tonight feels entirely different. I curl up, listening to the low, unintelligible male voice upstairs on the phone. And I wonder who he’s talking to.
But it doesn’t matter. For once, I’m not completely alone. You won’t hear me admitting it out loud, but it eases me. Not that it makes any sense at all, but I feel more at peace than I have in a long time.
Maybe I’m just exhausted from all the upheaval in my life.
That must be it.
I close my eyes and try not to dream of hunky tattooed men with slow smiles.
I wake early the next morning and listen, as always. The birds are at it again outside my window. Otherwise, the house is silent.
Just in case Nash is an early riser, I carry my clothes into the downstairs bathroom. There’s another one upstairs for him, luckily.
I’m already dressed and putting on my face by the time I hear his footfalls on the stairs. Although he stops halfway down. “Knock knock. Everybody decent? Not that it’s a problem if you’re naked.”
Poking my head out of the bathroom, I roll my eyes. “Coast is clear.”
“Unfortunate,” he says, striding the rest of the way down the stairs. “I slept surprisingly well, thanks for asking.”
“We’re all relieved,” I mumble, wondering if I’m supposed to offer him breakfast. That’s what a nice girl would do.
Too bad I’m not a nice girl.
“Gotta love this commute across the parking lot,” he says cheerfully. “See you over there.”
“Right. What time do you want to see your father? I thought we’d leave here at ten.”
“Works for me.” He turns toward the door.
“Hey, Nash?”
He swivels back toward me, surprise in his expression. “Yeah?”
“Did you hear any news from Leila about the baby?”
He shakes his head. “Last night I spoke to Matteo, and he told me that Leila was receiving IV drugs to induce labor. But it could take a whole day.”
“Wow, okay.” I send out a silent prayer of strength for Leila.
“I texted both her and Matteo fifteen minutes ago, asking how they’re doing. No response, though.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine,” I say quickly.
“Yeah. Of course.” He gives a quick nod and then leaves the pumphouse, taking care to depress the button lock before he shuts the door.
I sit down at my breakfast table alone. The way it’s supposed to be.
